The Dragonborn and the Thief
by daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: Various oneshots/drabbles about my Dragonborn, Althea Clayton, and Brynjolf.
1. Fifteen Kisses

**Fifteen Kisses**

* * *

_Lips_

Their first kiss was part of an act for a guard. They'd been trying to talk their way out of a sticky situation, when his lips were suddenly on hers. She'd known him for a _week,_ and he was _kissing_ her, but Mara's mercy, was it a good kiss. She almost, _almost_, forgot about the guard, until he pulled back and her brain started to work again. His bold action earned him a slap across the face. She didn't know if it was for the sake of their charade or for what his kiss had done to her.

* * *

_Forehead_

She clung to him in her sleep. Her tiny body was almost always pressed up against his, craving his warmth from Skyrim's cold. He would lay awake with her in his arms, marveling at how nicely she fit there… until her nightmares came. Then she'd cling to him out of fear, and he would hold her close, comforting her until she calmed. He'd kiss her forehead and whisper to her how much he loved her, wishing her bad dreams away.

* * *

_Cheek_

As she pressed her lips to the scar on his cheek, he smiled, remembering the morning they lay in bed, exploring each other's scars. He voiced his thoughts of the memory, and those lips curled into a mischievous smile. They should do that again, she proposed, since they'd both gotten a few new scars since then. He agreed, flashing her a grin, and she declared they would be heading home early that night.

* * *

_Nose_

The Guild was making fun of them again. He was a big, strong, Nord, who just happened to be madly in love. They called him soft because of it, but she could see he didn't care because he kept staring at her with that adoring gaze of his. She could feel the Guild's stares and hear their sniggers, but the only thing he seemed to focus on was her. She leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose, their friends making more jokes at his expense. He just smiled.

* * *

_Back of Hand_

She'd done his little task, stole the ring and planted it on the Dunmer, and he'd seemed pleased it went off without a hitch. He'd invited her to find the Guild's hideout in the Ratway, and she had every intention of doing so. It was only after she started to walk away that he asked for her name. She told him, holding out her hand, and he took it, bringing it up to his lips instead of shaking it. She could feel her cheeks burn as he smirked and introduced himself. She jerked her hand away with a glare and stormed off, and she _swore_ she heard him laughing as she left.

* * *

_Fingertips_

It had only been a few days since they named her Guildmaster, and she already hated the paperwork the job required. Even with his guidance and help, it was still more writing than she was used to, and it wasn't long before she started complaining about pain in her hand. He took the quill from her and started to slowly massage her hand, watching as she relaxed, slouching back in her chair. When he finished, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing each of her fingertips. He nibbled on her little finger, and she squealed with laughter. He grinned, pleased with himself. She tore her hand away from him and got back to work, biting back a smile as she tried to concentrate.

* * *

_Collarbone_

She looked ridiculous in his shirts. Ridiculous, but beautiful. They were huge on her, always hanging off her small frame, but she never seemed to mind. It was quite the opposite, really; she'd steal his shirts any chance she got, just like now. She pulled it on over her bare skin and he couldn't help but notice her collarbone peeking out from its hem. He stepped up to her and pressed a kiss there, noting the hitch in her breath as he did so. It seemed that shirt wouldn't be staying on for long.

* * *

_Shoulder_

She loved his freckles, especially the ones on his shoulders and back. She loved to sit behind him and rest her head on his shoulder, tracing the little dots with her fingertips. They were like the stars, and she would draw shapes with them just like the constellations in the sky. Then she would kiss them, her lips traveling over his shoulders as she peppered him and his freckles with little kisses. He would smile, and she would sigh contently, and then she'd begin again, holding him close and tracing his freckles once more.

* * *

_Spine_**

They stayed in bed much later than they should have, deciding they were going to have a lazy morning. They talked and they fooled around, but mostly they just cuddled, enjoying the feel and warmth of each other's bodies as they drifted in and out of sleep. He brushed her dark hair away from her back and kissed his way up her spine, feeling her chest rise and fall with steady, slumbering breaths underneath his lips. When he reached the top of his path, he tenderly kissed the markings on the back of her neck. She hummed in pleasure, murmuring her nickname for him in the dragon tongue. He replied with a nickname of his own as he pulled her closer, and she let out a sleepy laugh at his pronunciation of her second language. He still had some learning to do.

* * *

_Throat_

She could feel the dragon inside her roiling beneath her skin, its power pulsing through her veins, trying to claw its way free of the mental confine she usually contained it in. Her inner _dovah_ always came out when she was like this; stressed, angry, and entirely fed up with the troubles she,_ the Dragonborn_, was supposed to stop. She wanted to scream, to _Shout_, to release the torrent of flames that was stirring at the back of her throat. She wanted to _burn_something, she wanted to—  
The press of his lips on her neck as he pulled her into his embrace silenced the raging fire inside her. She was finally able to breathe, each kiss along her throat pushing back her inner dragon more and more, until it was a controllable simmer deep inside her. Her inner _dovah_may have always come out at times like those, but her love was always there to help push it back and keep her sane.

* * *

_Stomach_***

She may have been an innocent maiden when they'd met, but not anymore. The lass was maddening when she wanted to be, and it drove him _crazy. _He glanced downwards at her, catching a glimpse of a sly smile and fiery eyes before she whispered a word in _dovah_ and breathed cool, frosty air up his abdomen and chest. She kissed her way down his stomach, her warm lips a stark contrast to his chilled skin, and _by Talos_, any and all coherent thoughts left his mind. All he could focus on was _her_, and the pleased little giggle she let out before continuing to drive him insane.

* * *

_Hipbone_

She was tired, cranky, and already as stubborn as they come—not a good combination—when she collapsed onto the bed and refused to move. He shook his head and rolled his eyes, ignoring her as she snapped at him for "disregarding" her feelings. She started on a rant and he let her talk herself out as he began to strip her of her armor, peppering each portion of newly exposed skin with little kisses. By the time he'd gotten her boots, bracers, and cuirass off, she'd quieted down, and he smiled to himself at a job well done. He pulled off her pants, pressing a kiss to her hip as he slid them down her legs, finally freeing her of all her armor. She yawned and stretched while he finished getting her and himself ready for bed. Once they were curled up under the covers, he told her everything would work out, and she muttered her agreement before falling fast asleep.

* * *

_Outer Thigh_

She was beautiful. He'd seen his fair share of women before, but he'd never _loved_ any of them. She was different, and he couldn't get enough of her. He never wanted to stop kissing her—so he didn't. He covered her in kisses, from wrist to shoulder, neck to navel, ankle to knee to outer thigh and inward, determined to find each and every spot on her body that made her moan—and he did.

* * *

_Inner Thigh_

He was an expert at such things, though she tried not to think of all the experience that made him such. Not that she _could_ think, not of anything other than him being the biggest tease on the face of Nirn. The damned man was kissing the inside of her thighs so slowly and torturously that she was going to scream—she would bet everything she had that that's what he was actually going for. Well, it was working, and she wanted to grab his red-haired head and move it just _up_, but the stubborn Nord would never let her. She was forced to endure this sweet, sweet torment… until she could plot her revenge later.

* * *

_Pelvic Bone_

She'd almost died on him. Again. She barely escaped the black dragon's wrath with her life, but she didn't escape without a reminder of what happened. She was left scarred, jagged teethmarks where the dragon's maw had clamped shut around her, almost taking her from him forever. She hated her new scars and thought they were ugly and grotesque, no matter how often he said otherwise. Since she wasn't listening to his words, he decided to show her, the moment her bandages came off. He kissed every mark, over the top of her thigh and her pelvis bone, over her stomach and her lower ribs, until she forgot about the World-Eater and the dragon threat. He kissed her until all she could think of was how he loved her, scars and all, more than life itself.

* * *

**Spine → In my headcanon, dragons have mates, Brynjolf being Althea's mate. They did a ceremony together, sort of like a dragon version of a wedding, and it resulted in a mark, like a magical tattoo, on each of their backs, just at the base of the neck, right above the space between their shoulder blades. The mark is the other person's name in the dragon tongue, and it magically connects them.

***Stomach → I also headcanon that when a Dragonborn uses their power and gets their dragonblood going their eyes change and become orange/yellow/red in color with slit pupils, just like a dragon's.


	2. Beginning

**Beginning**

* * *

The beginning of it all felt like ages ago, even though Althea could remember it like it was yesterday. Waking up in that cart to find herself bound for no reason other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time; it was nothing in comparison to what came next. Being forced down on the headsman's block that was still soaked with the fresh blood of the Nord who volunteered to go first, his cold, dead eyes staring up at her from the basket below… even _that_ was not as frightening as what the dragon brought forth.

The shrill screams and wails of people all around her as they burned before her eyes… the smell of burnt flesh permeating the air in that godforsaken town… the thick smoke filling her lungs, making it almost unbearable to breathe… the overbearing heat emanating from the flames that consumed the buildings and the people in them… and the fireballs falling from the otherworldly, blood-red sky… _that_ was what haunted Althea's dreams at night. That, and the dragon itself.

The behemoth of a creature was covered in scales as dark as a starless sky, and had spikes, teeth, and claws that appeared as if they could cut through a man like a knife through butter. Then there were his eyes, eyes slitted like a reptile's, but still unlike anything she had ever seen. They were a fiery-red, almost on fire themselves, and the moment Althea gazed into them was the moment her life changed forever.

Nothing would ever be the same again.


	3. Get Me

**Get Me**

Drabble request: drabble about one character saving another.

This takes place during Scoundrel's Folly—before Brynjolf and Althea are together.

* * *

They had slipped through the warehouse unnoticed, but no job was ever perfect these days. Following Gulum-Ei had led them to a hidden grotto filled with bandits that would not hesitate to kill the two thieves if they were caught. To avoid any conflict with the brigands, Brynjolf watched Althea put them down one by one, precisely shooting them with arrows dipped in a paralytic poison.

Their problem was the five bandits up ahead. Brynjolf knew his lass was an ace with her bow, he had consistently seen her hit consecutive bulls-eyes on the targets in the training room, and had observed her impressive shooting on their current mission. But even she was not going to be able to shoot them all before they saw them. She confirmed his thoughts, informing him she could hit as many as three if she were lucky, so Brynjolf drew his daggers in preparation for the fight.

"Brynjolf," she murmured as she placed her hand over his closed fist. He momentarily got distracted by her touch, looking down at her hand before focusing again and meeting her eyes. "I have enough poison for your blades as well. All you would have to do is slash them once, and the poison would take effect."

He smiled at her, reassuring her that he understood her suggestion. She had never killed anyone before, though she had assisted another in doing so during their escape from Helgen. Even though it was in self-defense, she hated her previous actions and did not wish to partake in the killing anyone ever again. Brynjolf supposed it was just another reason his lass was too good for him.

Once Brynjolf's blades were carefully coated in the paralytic poison, Althea took aim at the bandits and let her arrows fly. She took down two of them before the rest realized they were being attacked and rushed at them. Brynjolf easily fell into battle, engaging the first bandit he ran into until he was able to nick the man between the plates of his armor. When he glanced around to find his next opponent, he felt a pang of fear in his chest when he saw Althea fighting the last bandit alone.

The Nord was twice her size and swinging at her with a monstrous battle-axe, while Althea was quickly dodging his attacks. Brynjolf did not think, he lunged himself at the bandit, wrapping his arms around his neck in a chokehold. The bandit was not going down easily, and brought the butt of his axe backwards and up, forcefully colliding it with Brynjolf's face.

Pain exploded behind his eyes as he growled, stumbling back a few steps, unwillingly losing his grip on the bandit. The other Nord deemed Brynjolf the greater threat, and turned to face him, preparing to strike. Before he could do so, Althea hopped up on the back of the bandit with a grunt, trying to help Brynjolf. Unfortunately, she was too petite to do anything more than pester the bandit, who would either throw her off of his back or smash her in the face with his battle-axe. Either way his lass would end up dead or gravely injured, so he snapped into action again.

Ignoring all the pain in his head and fueled by his desire to protect Althea, Brynjolf quickly stepped forward and stabbed the bandit in the gut, instantly paralyzing him. Althea jumped off the bandit's back just as Brynjolf pulled his bloody dagger out of the bandit, who promtly fell to the ground, paralyzed and bleeding out. She stared at the dying bandit, strands of her hair falling in front of her wide eyes. Brynjolf could only imagine what horrible things she was thinking about, and instantly felt guilty for letting his feelings for her rush him into stabbing the bandit instead of finding another way to incapacitate him.

"Lass, I'm sorry, I—"

"I can heal him enough so he won't die," she said quickly, dropping to the ground and placing her hands over the bandit's wound. Brynjolf watched as the golden, healing magic flowed from her fingertips, causing him to remember his own injury. Now that he had calmed down, the pain returned in full force, and he could feel blood running from the wound near his left eye. He tried to staunch the bloodflow by pressing his hand to the wound, but all he did was make himself wince. As soon as Althea finished healing the bandit, she stood up and turned to face Brynjolf, guilt washing over her face at his appearance. "Oh gods, I'm so sorry! I should have healed you first!"

"I'll be fine, it's just a scratch," Brynjolf answered, despite the fact it was much more than a simple scratch. Althea shot him a glare before her expression softened.

"Let me see it," she ordered, gently pulling his hand off his face with her own. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip, indicating his wound at least looked as bad as it felt. He continued watching her as she softly placed her hand over his eye and began to heal him, the warmth from her restoration magic soothing all his pain away. When he was as good as new, Brynjolf moved his hand over hers. It startled her, and she snapped her eyes quickly to his.

"Thank you, lass," he said, giving her a soft smile. She smiled back at him, and it only made him smile more.

"Anytime, Brynjolf."


	4. Winds

**Winds**

* * *

She shivered and pulled her cloak around her tighter as the brisk winds began to pick up again. She stopped walking and looked up to the sky, feeling utterly defeated—and royally pissed off.

"_Seriously?!_" she shouted. "Again?!" She would have shook her fist at the sky, but she was too cold to do anything but hug her cloak to her body as tightly as she could. Althea looked back to the snowy trail in front of her, just in time to see the freezing mists rolling in from the top of the mountain. She whined in annoyance, the sound something between a scream and a growl.

Steadying herself against the coming onslaught of sheer _cold_, Althea let the power from her dragonblood fill her, taking in a deep breath and preparing to Shout.

"_LOK VAH KOOR!_" Her Thu'um cracked through the air, dissipating the mist and instantly halting the winds around her. She took a deep breath and relaxed, thankful the effects of the Shout were so sudden. Now, if only they would _last_.

She was still freezing; she was climbing the tallest mountain in Skyrim, after all. It was cold enough down below the mountain, forget about up near the peak.

"I swear, this guy had better have some gods damned answers, or I'm going to Shout Arngeir's head off," she grumbled to herself, pressing forward again. Whose idea was it for the leader of the Greybeards to live at the top of the mountain, anyway? Hopefully this Paarthurnax she was supposed to meet lived in a hut or a shack, or _anything_ that had heat… and blankets… _lots_ of blankets.

She sighed and rolled her eyes as the winds started to pick up again, the freezing mist soon to follow. Time to Shout, _again_. One day all these Dragonborn responsibilities would end, and Althea couldn't wait for that day.


	5. Sphallolalia

**Sphallolalia**

Drabble request: flirtatious talk that leads nowhere.

* * *

Brynjolf knew that things wouldn't immediately go back to normal once they returned home. Their nightmares proved their ordeal with the Thalmor was still fresh in their minds, and it was going to take some time for them to feel truly safe again. But, he hadn't counted on everything _else_ that was adding to his wife's stress.

Her inner dragon was… _overactive_, to put it mildly. Althea had relied on it too much during their "pleasant" stay at Northwatch Keep, and their eventful trip home didn't much help either. Two dragons attacked them just outside of Shor's Stone, and absorbing both dragon souls was too much power for her to handle at once. At the end of the battle, another dragon appeared, Nafaalil-however-it-went, and his subsequent pledge of service to her pushed Althea right over the edge. _That_ plus the fact that the Thalmor were afraid of her because of her predecessor, who had also known a certain dragon, had sent his wife into a nervous frenzy.

She was so convinced that she was going to lose control of herself and her innate lust for power that she was doing all the research she could on Tiber Septim and Talos, Dragonborn, and dragons in order to find some way to control it. If Brynjolf were to be honest with himself, her current state of obsession with her "research" was just a bit frightening. His wife had a tendency to overreact to situations like these, but this was… worse.

That's why Brynjolf decided she needed a distraction… and what better distraction than himself? It _had_ been a few days, after all, and for them, that might as well have been a few weeks. _Two birds, one stone_, he thought as he sought her out.

When he approached her, Althea was hunched over her desk, her dark eyes rapidly scanning over the pages of the books sprawled out over the wooden surface. At least they weren't spread out on the floor anymore; it had taken him a while to convince her the ground wasn't the most comfortable place to read.

"You know, lass," he started, stepping around the desk and leaning back against the bookshelf on the wall, "they say reading in poor light can blind you." She barely acknowledged him, quickly glancing in his general direction before continuing to read. "It would be such a shame if you lost the ability to appreciate _this_." He gestured to himself, waiting for her reaction.

"Mhm."

_That's it?_ That's all he got? Ordinarily, he would have gotten an appreciative stare and a smart comment about how he was egocentric and conceited. They'd banter back and forth until he swept her off her feet and that was that. This reaction, or lack thereof, was entirely new.

Brynjolf crossed his arms over his chest and shifted uncomfortably, his brows knitting together. He was going to have to step up his game.

"I know _I_ would be _horrified_ if I lost the ability to observe _you_, love," he stated, his eyes sweeping over her petite form. "I rather enjoy the view of your backside when you bend over like that."

"Me, too," she muttered, flipping the page of the book she was staring at. _Shor's balls_, she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

He stepped up next to her, lightly trailing his fingers over her exposed skin between the bottom hem of her shirt and waistband of her pants. He slipped his hand under her shirt and over the arch of her back as he bent over beside her, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Seeing you bent over the desk like this is starting to give me ideas," he purred, expecting an instant reaction. When he didn't get a protest of being taken like some common whore, he sighed, accepting his defeat.

He'd been beaten by a bunch of boring books about a dead man. Wonderful.

Brynjolf shook his head and stood up straight, moving behind his wife. He grabbed her hips and tugged her back towards him, spinning her around to face him. The sudden movement surprised her, and she brought her hands up between them and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Brynjolf," she breathed, relaxing against him. She rested her hands on his chest, her fingers slightly curling into the fabric of his shirt. "Did you need something?"

Oh, how he wished she said that in a _teasing_ manner, but his wife was obviously in no state for anything but sleep. There were dark circles under her eyes, which were already bloodshot. Althea yawned, confirming his observation, and he smiled softly at her.

"You need to get some sleep."

"Not yet," she said, starting to pull away from him. "I'm not tired and I have to finish—"

"I wasn't asking," he replied, tightening his grip on her and preventing her from pulling away. Before she could protest, he scooped her up in his arms, bridal style, and started walking towards the alcove housing the secret exit from the Guild.

"Bryn, put me down right now," she ordered, and he promptly ignored her. He only put her down when they reached the ladder out of the cistern, and she glared up at him with her hands on her hips, clearly annoyed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down until she gave in, letting out an overdramatic huff as she turned to climb the ladder.

Once they were up and out of the Guild, Brynjolf picked her up again, earning him more protests. By the time they arrived at Honeyside, Althea had stopped complaining. He looked down at his wife to find her fast asleep, her arm draped over his shoulder and her head resting in the crook of his neck. He smiled to himself and shook his head at how quick she'd fallen into a peaceful slumber. So much for _not_ being tired…


	6. Quiet Me

**Quiet Me**

Drabble request: drabble about one character trying to calm another down.

In my headcanon, when a Dragonborn is going to use a Shout (or anything that gets their dragonblood going like being afraid, angry, etc., their eyes change from whatever they normally look like to what all dragons' eyes look like (in my headcanon)—fiery orange/yellow/red in color and having vertical, slit pupils like reptiles.

Althea and Brynjolf were kidnapped and tortured by the Thalmor at one point in my story.

* * *

Brynjolf awoke from his sleep, bringing his hand up to rub his eyes, his other moving to pull his wife closer to him. He knew something was wrong when he felt the sheets below his fingertips instead of her warm skin, and it instantly shook him from his drowsy state. He rolled to face her side of the bed, propping himself up on his elbow, and furrowed his brow at what he saw.

The soft light of the dim fire from the kitchen illuminated her sleeping form, her small body curled up into a tight ball at the very edge of her side of the bed. Her dark hair obscured most of her face, but Brynjolf could see that she was trembling and gripping her blankets tightly. He knew she was having another nightmare, so he moved beside her, cradling her body with his.

He gently brushed her hair away from her sweaty forehead, then kicking off their blankets so she was not too hot. Brynjolf tenderly rubbed up and down his wife's arm through the shirt of his that she was wearing, hoping that her nightmare would end quickly. He had an idea of what she was dreaming of and how horrid it was, and he only wished he could relieve her pain, but luck was not with him.

Soon Althea was mumbling in the dragon tongue, her voice distressed as she began to toss and turn in his arms. She was breathing fast, her face showing a myriad of emotions—none of them pleasant. She got louder and more restless until she finally hit her breaking point.

She awoke with a scream, one that had hints of the Thu'um in it, and she sat up, frantically breathing and looking around to gain a bearing of her surroundings. Brynjolf sat up as well and placed his hands on her arms, trying to get her to focus on him, whispering her name until she was calm enough to realize that he was there and that he was trying to comfort her.

When her eyes finally met his, he saw they were fiery and slit like a dragon's, almost glowing in the firelight. He was not surprised that her inner dragon was showing; her fear was evident in the way he felt her shaking, in the speeding pulse in her neck, and the tears beginning to pool in her eyes.

"Lass, you're alright now," Brynjolf whispered, running his hands up and down her arms to soothe her. "It's over."

She did not reply, just gazed into his eyes a moment longer before throwing her arms around him and breaking down into tears. He hugged her back, holding her close as she desperately clung to him. He tried to comfort her as best as he could by rubbing her back, stroking her hair, and whispering words of love in her ear, but he still felt helpless. He had no way of protecting Althea from these dreams; all he could do was be there for her when she woke up and the damage was already done, and he _hated_ that. He absolutely despised what the Thalmor had done to her, that she had to go through any of it in the first place. Brynjolf would have gladly taken Althea's place and gone through more of the Thalmor's psychological torture, just so she would not still dream about it. He would not have hesitated to do it, even if it meant more nightmares for himself. As long as his wife was safe, he didn't care what happened to him.

Eventually, Althea somewhat calmed down, though she refused to let Brynjolf go. She still held him in a death grip, her arms tightly wrapped around his chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Every few breaths her shoulders heaved as she tried to stay calm.

"You were dead," she whispered, her warm breath soft on his skin. She finally released him and pulled her face back. Her eyes were back to normal, though they were puffy and rimmed in red from her crying. She had a distant look in them, and Brynjolf knew she was still reliving her nightmare. His wife focused on him again, her eyes dropping to his neck as she wiped away the tears that had smudged onto his skin. "He stabbed you," she continued, placing her hand on the scar on the side of his abdomen, then gazing into his eyes again. "He killed you… again."

"Althea, my love," Brynjolf started, taking her hand and lifting it until it lay over his heart. He cupped her face with his hands and rested his forehead against hers, his thumbs gently rubbing her cheeks and wiping her old tears away. "I'm alive, right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know that," she replied, her voice barely audible, chest rising and falling almost steadily as she fought to breathe normally.

"Aye, I do."

"Bryn, I—"

"Listen to me, lass," he said firmly. "What you saw isn't real. Mercer's dead, and I'm alive, not the other way around." Brynjolf tucked her dark hair behind her ear before placing his hands on her face again, giving her a small, lopsided smile. "It's going to take a lot more than that bitter, backstabbing grump to take me away from you, all right?"

Althea choked out a small laugh and nodded, her hands dropping down to fidget with the hem of his pants. Brynjolf outright grinned at her, and she bit her lip before laughing and breaking out into a beautiful smile of her own. By the gods, he loved the way her face lit up when she did that.

He closed the small distance between them and pressed his lips to hers, getting lost in the way her mouth felt against his. He felt her small hands move to his waist, tugging on him and urging him closer to her. Brynjolf obliged, sliding his hand back and fisting it in her hair, his other hand slipping under her shirt and pulling her closer to him by the small of her back.

When the kiss ended, they barely pulled away from each other, Althea's breath on his lips as he looked her directly in the eyes.

"I love you. With all my heart," he murmured.

"I love you, too." she replied. Even though he knew it already, his heart swelled at her words. He planted another quick kiss to her lips and one to her forehead before lying back down on the bed, his arm open and waiting for his wife.

"We'd better get some sleep. If we get down to the Guild late again, Vex is going to kill us." Althea snorted as she settled herself at his side, resting her head on his chest.

"Let her get angry," she began, wrapping her arm around his torso and throwing her leg over his. "She can't do anything about it. _I'm_ the one in charge, not her. We can get down there anytime we want."

"I don't know about that, lass," Brynjolf said, lightly running his fingers up and down the curve of her back. "We've got a mountain of paperwork to do." She closed her eyes and sighed, her eyelashes and breath tickling his skin.

"Well, at least we can suffer through it together," she mumbled, sleep starting to take ahold of her.

"Aye." Brynjolf hated paperwork, but he loved spending that time together with his wife. The faces she made while concentrating were adorable.

He opened his mouth to crack a joke at her expense, but promptly shut it once he realized she had already fallen back to sleep. He smiled to himself and closed his eyes, trying to fall back asleep himself.

"Goodnight, love."


	7. Nightmares

**Nightmares**

Some tidbits of info about this:

• I will shamelessly admit that once I read/watched Game of Thrones and saw Daenerys and her dragons I wanted one for Althea. So she gets a dragonling during her adventures.  
• Althea and Brynjolf's daughter is Dragonborn, and like her mother her eyes change when her dragonblood kicks in (when she uses her abilities or is scared/angry).  
• I've mentioned that Althea and Brynjolf are mates, and that they have a magical tattoo on the back of their necks—it magically links them, and allows them to feel each other's emotions.

* * *

"How did Eira's visit with your father go?" Brynjolf asked as she climbed into bed with him.

Althea shrugged before cuddling up to him and letting out a sigh. "Well, she didn't accidentally Shout at anything, so that's good."

He chuckled. "So I presume your father fed her sweetrolls the whole time she was there?"

She propped her head up on his chest, looking down at him with a frown. "Yes, he did, and she didn't want to eat any of her dinner because of it," she said bitterly.

"That's what grandfathers do, lass, they spoil their grandchildren," he replied, and Althea rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, but I think it's all payback for how horrible I was as a child."

"The little lass does take after you…"

"And you!" she retorted. "She's already trying to con people into giving her sweets in exchange for her own 'magic potions like Daddy.'"

Brynjolf chuckled again, shaking his head. "She makes me proud," he said, releasing a deep breath. "Just wait until she's older."

"Good gods, Mara have mercy on us all…"

They laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. When they calmed down, Althea ran her fingers over the scar on his cheek, smiling down at him softly.

"I love you," she murmured, and he grinned at her.

"I know." Brynjolf lifted his face and met her lips with his. Their kisses grew deeper as he maneuvered her onto her back, settling over her. Things had just started to pick up when they heard the familiar creak in the stairs from the basement, alerting them to the fact that they weren't alone.

They pulled back and he rolled onto his side behind her, both looking towards the source of the sound. Sure enough, Eira was pattering up the stairs one by one, her long, messy hair obscuring her face.

When she reached the top of the stairs she turned towards them, huffing and brushing her hair out of her face with one hand, the other tightly clutching her stuffed horker. Althea felt Brynjolf's and her own pang of worry upon seeing their daughter's fiery dragon eyes looking back at them.

"_Monah, Bormah, zu'u los zofaas_," she muttered. _Mother, Father, I'm scared._

"Come here, little lass," Brynjolf urged, pulling the blankets back. Eira scurried over to the bed and Althea helped her climb onto it. She settled between her parents, and Brynjolf pulled the covers back up, making sure everyone was tucked in. Eira glanced back and forth from the two of them, squeezing her horker, fiery eyes wide with fear.

"What is it, Eira?" Althea asked, her voice soft as she brushed her hair away from her face.

"_Zu'u lost volzah hahnu._" _I had a bad dream._ Althea exchanged a glance with her husband before pulling their daughter into a hug, soothingly running her hand up and down her back. Brynjolf quietly hummed Eira's favorite song to help calm her down. Soon enough, she relaxed in her mother's arms, her eyes returning to normal. It seemed Althea and Brynjolf weren't going to be sleeping alone, so they got comfortable with their daughter between them.

The rustle of leathery wings and a little nicker-like sound from the stairs attracted their attention. Althea glanced over her shoulder, finding Vokun looking at them, his head cocked to the side in curiosity, no doubt wondering why his sleeping buddy wasn't in her bed.

"_Meyz het, Vokun_," she sighed. _Come here, Vokun._ The dragonling immediately crawled over to the bed, fluttering his wings and leaping right on top of them. He nuzzled his snout against Eira's face, making her giggle, before floundering to the foot of the bed. He curled up into a ball, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils.

Althea looked to Brynjolf, the smile on her lips mirrored on his, feeling love he felt for their daughter, for her, and their dragonling as well. She settled her head on her pillow, sighing contently as she let her husband's pleasant emotions mix with her own until sleep finally took them.


End file.
